Devil's Halo

Chapter 7 (Lucius): Tangled Fates

The audacity of a demon targeting me—Lucius, the prince of darkness—wasn't just bold; it was unprecedented in the mundane context of our nightly endeavors. True, demon attacks were hardly a novelty in our world, but one directed at me carried implications far heftier than a mere skirmish. It was a statement, a challenge not just to my physical form but to my authority, my standing in the intricate hierarchy of the underworld.

I wasn't given to narcissism—awareness of one's strength and role wasn't vanity, after all. However, the reality remained that in the grand chessboard of hellish politics and power plays, my position was akin to royalty. And with such status came not just power but peril—jealousies, rivalries, and schemes as dark and twisted as the souls that spawned them.

The attack could signify a ripple in the underworld's murky waters, a precursor to a storm brewing in the shadows. Power struggles were as much a part of our existence as the night itself, an eternal game of thrones played with stakes immortally high. To be targeted was to be reminded of the precarious balance I navigated between my duties, my desires, and the ever-present threat of insurrection.

As the bus continued its journey, the hum of the engine and the soft murmur of nighttime Los Angeles formed a backdrop to my ruminations. This incident at the brewery wasn't merely a random act of violence; it was a message, a reminder of the dangerous games played in the darkness. And as I stood there, watching over Evangeline, I couldn't help but feel the weight of centuries bearing down, a silent pressure that whispered of battles yet to come, alliances to be forged, and enemies lurking in the shadows, waiting for their moment to strike.

Two stops later, we arrived. The "app" on my phone indicated our destination was just a block and a half away. As the bus made its noisy departure, Evangeline, displaying a blend of determination and disregard for societal norms, had already slipped off her high heels and started walking barefoot in the general direction of 'south'. "La Cita," I provided, the name of the bar we were headed to. As we neared, her pace quickened to a run, driven by urgency and fear for her friend.

La Cita, nestled on a vibrant street corner, exuded a lively Mexican ambiance, its exterior adorned with colorful decorations that hinted at the warmth and energy inside. The sound of live music spilled out from the patio, a space reached by navigating through the building into a sort of courtyard alive with laughter and conversation, predominantly from a Hispanic crowd. Evangeline's barefoot state drew glances—not just for the lack of footwear but for her undeniable beauty, momentarily capturing the attention of many before they caught sight of me. Their brief interest waned, a testament to the air I carried around me; some sort of danger, perhaps, or simply the unknown. I found their reactions amusing, a dark humor in the way human instincts could so easily be swayed.

Inside, the bar was teeming with life. A wall adorned with an impressive array of spirits and liquors painted a picture of abundance and choice. Evangeline wasted no time, her gaze darting through the crowd, a look of sheer panic about to break the surface. Catching up, I placed a hand on her almost bare shoulder, feeling her skin moist with anxiety. She flinched slightly but refocused as I showed her the glowing dot on my phone.

She scanned the crowd, then her eyes locked onto a man. Recognition flashed across her face—the same man who had offered Ren a ride earlier. Without hesitation, she confronted him, "Where is she?" Her voice was firm, demanding, yet he only chuckled in response, not taking her seriously until she pushed him for emphasis. "What did you do with her?!"

His next words caught us both off guard. "I roofied her drink. She's in the bathroom." His confession, as surprising to him as to us, was a revelation. Evangeline, unaware of her own burgeoning powers, had compelled him to speak the truth without hesitation. I observed her in a new light, realizing the depth of her abilities.

Evangeline disappeared into the crowd, bee-lining it for the restrooms. I turned my attention back to the brewing tension at the bar and felt a bit of mischief making was in order. The abductor, still reeling from Evangeline's confrontation, was brimming with wounded pride—a feeling I knew all too well how to manipulate. The onlooker's chuckle was like a match struck in a room full of gas, and I was more than willing to fan the flames.

With a subtle influence, I amplified the abductor's embarrassment into a searing rage. Pride was my domain, after all. "Can't even handle a girl, huh?" I whispered into the ether, directing the words into the abductor's mind, making him believe they came from the smirking onlooker.

The abductor turned, his eyes locking onto the source of his bruised ego. "What'd you say?" he growled, stepping closer to the man who'd unwittingly become a pawn in my game.

"I didn't say nothing," the onlooker replied, genuinely confused yet defensive, sensing the aggression directed his way.

But it was too late. The seed of conflict had taken root. With a shove, the abductor initiated a physical altercation, his pride dictating his actions. The onlooker, caught off guard, retaliated, and within moments, a full-blown bar fight erupted. Chairs were overturned, glasses shattered, and the festive atmosphere of La Cita was replaced with chaos.

Evangeline emerged with Ren, who was clearly intoxicated. "No, she didn't drink it. She's just a lightweight," she explained, seeing my expression. She held a lot of Ren's weight with one arm, while the other held her phone.  "Uber will be here in seven. I'm waiting outside," she declared, not up for discussion.

Outside, with Ren playfully waving at random guys, Evangeline quickly assured someone named Martha over the phone that Ren was safe and they were on their way home. As the call ended, her phone clattered to the concrete. She gasped and fell back into me. Her petite frame pressed against mine elicited an unexpected reaction, different from anything I'd felt before. Sure, I'd not lacked the sensation of a woman's touch . . . but this was–different. Caught off guard, I kept my hands raised to avoid unwanted contact.

"Oooh, Eva, snagged yourself a dark, mysterious hunk, huh? Dump Brad, keep this one. Upgrade!" Her words echoed louder than intended, drawing a few more curious glances our way.

Evangeline realized it was me she had fallen against and straightened up immediately. My gaze trailed her look of horror, landing on my ever-faithful guard dog ambling our way. Impeccable timing, I thought, the sarcasm dripping in my mind like venom. Just as the puzzle of Evangeline—and whatever strange pull she had on the world around her—was becoming intriguing, Mal had to waltz in and ruin the moment.

"What's her problem?" he grumbled.

"She can see you," I reminded him, frustration lacing my voice at his slow grasp of the situation.

"Well, last I checked, I didn't have the power of invisibility," Malachai retorted, misunderstanding my point.

"No, She can SEE you," I underscored, highlighting Evangeline's peculiar gift. Malachai paused. There was a moment of recalibration, an acknowledgment of Evangeline's distinctiveness and her undefined significance to me.

With an unusual effort to seem less intimidating, Malachai made a clumsy attempt to conceal his demonic traits, pulling in his aura of menace. This rare adjustment on his part was telling—reflecting his realization of Evangeline's unique position, not just any human entangled in our affairs but someone of potential importance. It was a gesture both amusing, given his typical bravado, and poignant, a demon momentarily softening his edge for a girl who saw him as he truly was.

Evangeline, meanwhile, seemed on the brink of panic, her breathing ragged as she couldn't tear her eyes away from Malachai. As soon as the Uber arrived, she hurried Ren into the car and climbed in after her. Before closing the door, she paused to look at me. "Thank you," she said, her eyes sincere but surrounded by a body that tensed, and a face that, despite its gratitude, seemed to recoil from the world I embodied. In that brief exchange, her entire being whispered a desire for distance, for a life untouched by my shadows.

Malachai and I watched the car drive away, the distant noises of the fight inside La Cita dying down and faint sirens wailing in the distance.Evangeline's "thank you" lingered with me, hinting at a change. The night's events and our fleeting connection had uncovered more about her, piquing my curiosity. Thinking it over, I realized her path was now unexpectedly woven with mine in ways I had yet to understand.